


TMA Tumblr Ficlets and Drabbles

by meverri



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meverri/pseuds/meverri
Summary: Each chapter is a different ficlet/drabble from a tumblr request (my tumblr is @hundred-separate-lines if you'd like to send me a request- I may or may not fill it). The title of the chapter is the request.
Kudos: 3





	1. How about a tma soft apocalypse?

(cw: blood, spiders)

Martin sighs, pulling off his jumper and grimacing at the huge tear down its back. “Yeah,” he mutters mournfully. “It’s ruined.”

Jon looks up from the giant dead awful horrible spider on the ground and gives Martin a sad grimace. “Sorry about that.”

“No! Not your fault,” Martin says quickly. “It’ll be good for bandages. Speaking of, let me see your arm.”

Jon huffs. “I’m fine, Martin,” he says, before glancing at his left shoulder. Blood is slowly seeping into his sleeve, making its way down towards his elbow, and Jon takes a deep breath, a wave of dizziness and nausea hitting him so hard he has to concentrate just to stand. It’s frustrating, getting used to being able to bleed again. He’s not quite sure what to do with the dull ache that pulses underneath the cut, rhythmic and overwhelming.

Martin rolls his eyes and picks his way over the many, many legs of the now-dead spider, all bent in a thousand directions, which can’t be right, even for a horrible mutated monster, and Jon suddenly squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too much, now, with the pain and the fear and the exhaustion from this latest adrenaline rush. He’s so tired, he realizes, of fighting monster after monster and never having a moment to rest.

Martin reaches him a moment later, steadying him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Come on,” he mutters, pulling Jon gently away from the mutilated spider. Jon lets himself be led to the side of the road, behind a tree, and helped to the ground. He closes his eyes again and rests his head against the tree, fighting down another wave of nausea as he listens to Martin fumbling through his bag. When he feels a hand on his shoulder again, he opens his eyes to find Martin kneeling beside him, his eyes full of concern.

“I need to look at your arm,” he says. He tugs carefully at the bottom of Jon’s jumper, and Jon nods, lost for a moment as Martin’s warm fingers brush against his stomach.

Martin helps him ease his arm out of the jumper, then winces as he sees the cut. Jon very pointedly Does Not Look at the blood, instead letting himself stare openly at Martin as he focuses on cleaning the wound as best he can before pressing a bit of gauze to it. He grabs Jon’s other hand for a moment to guide it to the cut.

“You need to keep the pressure on for a moment,” he says. Jon nods.

Martin glances ruefully at his ruined jumper for one last moment before ripping it into long, rough strips. Jon let his eyes linger on Martin’s curls, on the small freckles that had appeared across his nose after a week of wandering through this ruined world, on the blood on his knuckles, on the way his tee shirt clung to his chest, on his arms, his eyes, his lips, and wonders if he’ll ever feel like he isn’t seeing Martin for the first time, again and again and again- like all the time he’s spent missing Martin has led him here, to the two of them, walking the waste of the world together.

Martin glances back up at him, the newly-torn bandages in his hand, and catches Jon’s eye. His brow furrows, even as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he lets out a small huff.

“What?”

Jon shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says softly. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Martin grins, blushing a bit, and ties the bandage around Jon’s arm. When he finishes, he helps Jon maneuver back into his jumper, then stands carefully and reaches a hand down, helping Jon to his feet.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

Jon nods, taking Martin’s hand and entwining their fingers together. “Yes,” he said. He glances up at Martin. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Jon shrugs, and Martin rolls his eyes.

“All right,” he says, squeezing Jon’s hand. “Let’s go.”


	2. Jon and Martin reuniting with Georgie and Melanie after the apocalypse

The eye closes.

Jon wakes up in the midst of a destroyed city, Martin’s firm hand on his shoulder, and groans. Martin helps him sit up, his hands firm and strong around Jon’s arms, and Jon rests his head against Martin’s chest. He wonders, absently, what time it is.

Then he smiles, because he has no idea.

They limp away from the smoking ruins of the Magnus Institute. Whatever time it is, it’s late; without the large, horrifying eye to guide their way, the sky offers almost no light by which to navigate the desecrated streets. Martin stumbles over a ruined patch of pavement, once, and Jon barely manages to catch him before he falls on his face. The exhaustion hits Jon like a brick wall, a thousand times worse than the sleepless nights he had before it all ended, and he barely manages to stay on his feet. He realizes belatedly that they don’t have a place to stay.

Just as he opens his mouth to ask Martin where, exactly, they are going, he recognizes a small coffee shop, its storefront the only one intact on the entire block.

“Oh,” he says.

Martin glances at him. “What?” he asks.

“We’re going to Georgie’s.”

Martin gives him a tired smile. “I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I was following you. I figured you knew the way.”

Jon smiles back and wraps an arm around Martin’s waist.

It isn’t long before they’ve reached the old white door to Georgie’s apartment. Jon hesitates for a moment, his hand hanging in the air, before he can make himself knock on the door. It occurs to him, suddenly and horribly, that Georgie might not have made it through, that Melanie could have died, that either of them could be lost or hurt or killed or –

The door opens.

Jon’s left with his hand hanging, his other hand wrapped in Martin’s, and Georgie is looking down at him with the same beautiful eyes he’s always loved, and oh, he’s missed her.

“Jon?” she breathes, sounding like he’s just punched her in the stomach.

“Georgie,” he whispers, and then she’s wrapped her arms around him, clinging to his sweaty jumper with a ferocity he hasn’t felt in years. He buries his face in her neck, full of the familiar scent of her shampoo, and feels safe.

From behind her, he hears Melanie call out. Martin shouts back, announcing their presence, and a second later Jon pulls away from Georgie to see Melanie standing in the doorway, wearing the same oversized flannel she was wearing all those months ago when he begged her to help him find Martin.

“Guess you sorted it out then,” she says, and suddenly Jon is pulling her into an uncertain hug. She’s strong, he thinks, but then again she always has been, hasn’t she? When he pulls himself away, there are tears running down her face, and Jon realizes with a shock that he’s crying, too.

Then Georgie and Melanie are pulling him and Martin inside, forcing them to the couch, and plying them with food. Melanie interrogates Martin about everything that happened in the Lonely, in Scotland, and after the apocalypse. Georgie sits next to Jon on the couch and rests her head on his shoulder. The Admiral settles himself on Jon’s lap, purring all the while. Jon, for his part, begins to nod off about halfway through the conversation, too consumed by exhaustion to understand what Martin’s saying after a few minutes. He rests his head on top of Georgie’s and wraps his hand in Martin’s jumper, taking comfort in their familiarity.

After a while – he isn’t sure exactly how long, considering his exhaustion – Georgie pulls him up and practically shoves him towards the bathroom. He showers as quickly as he can, savoring the hot water and the feeling of being clean, and then waits in the kitchen while Martin showers. Melanie shoves a box of biscuits at him while he waits, putting a hand on her hips when he refuses and saying “You’re a twig, Jon. Eat.”

Jon gives her a wry smile and takes a small bite. “Missed you,” he mutters.

Melanie feels her way around the table to him and wraps one arm around his shoulders. “Missed you too, you utter bastard,” she says. “Glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you found Martin.”

He nods. “I’m glad you two made it out, as well,” he says. “And that you’re still together.”

Melanie grins. “I’m glad we’re together, too,” she says. The Admiral whines, and she picks him up and places him on her lap without missing a beat. “It saved us a few times, I think. Made everything a bit less awful.”

Jon glances towards the bathroom as the water shuts off. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I know what you mean.”

“We’re getting married, you know,” Melanie says, running a hand through the Admiral’s fur. “Now that the world is back, we’ll have to set a date, but we’ve been planning on it for a while.”

Jon’s heart skips a beat. “O- oh,” he says, glancing up as Georgie enters the kitchen. She drops a quick kiss on the top of Melanie’s head and snags a biscuit from the box Jon has abandoned on the table. “Congratulations.”

Georgie winks at him. “Won’t be long for you either, will it?”

Jon blushes furiously as Martin steps out of the bathroom, his damp curls hanging over his forehead. “I… ” he says, twisting his hands in his jeans. “I- uh, I mean – ”

Georgie rolls her eyes. “I was teasing, Jon,” she says, offering a biscuit to Martin. He accepts it with a smile and runs a hand over Jon’s shoulder.

“Time for bed, I think,” he says. He helps Jon to his feet. Georgie gestures to the guest room.

“Good night, you two,” Melanie says with a wink.

Georgie smirks, then lets her smile soften. “I really am glad you two are okay,” she says. “I missed you, Jon.”

“I missed you too, Georgie,” he says. Martin’s hand his firm on his back, the one constant comfort he has had in all these months alone. He leans into the touch as he opens the door to the guest room.

“Good night,” he says, and pulls Martin towards the bed.


	3. Something from the Admiral's POV

The Admiral basks in a golden puddle of sunlight, letting its warmth flood across his back. He stretches sleepily, lets the sun warm his belly for a moment, then curls back into himself, tucking his nose into his own warm fur. This will be a quiet, lazy day.

At least, that’s what he thinks before he is lifted unceremoniously out of place. He yowls in protest, kicking at the hand holding him.

“Really,” she says as he halfheartedly digs a claw into her wrist.

This is his human, his mother, his protector, so he doesn’t leave a mark on her skin. They’ve been together for too many years for him to ever hurt her on purpose. And really, if he’s going to be moved like this, he’d rather it was her than any of the many friends she has in her apartment, these days.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s one that he loves almost as much as her, one he’s loved for just as long and who he missed for so many years until he returned one day, smelling of desperation. That one’s wonderful, too, and allowed to pull him into his lap whenever he pleases. And the two of them both have partners, now, one of whom lives with him and feeds him treats whenever he begs, even if his own human scolds. He supposes she’s part of his family too, now, and he knows she likes to run her hands along his fur, gentle and rhythmic, when she awakens in the middle of the night with a scream, or when she can’t fall asleep because the gentle cycle of the sun and the moon has been forever lost to her. He tolerated her, once, but now she’s precious to him, part of his own little clan here in the apartment where he’s spent most of his life.

The other partner is wonderful, too, but he rarely touches the Admiral without waiting for the Admiral to come to him. He lets the Admiral nose at the soft fabric of his jumpers, at the soft skin on his hands, before gently scratching him behind the ears. He likes this one, too, though he is not as familiar as the others. He’s kind, and he loves the Admiral’s family, and that is enough.

There are two others, as well. One has firm hands, rarely affectionate, but she smiles when the Admiral winds his way around her legs when she comes to visit. He remembers her from the bad days, the ones when the world was twisted and warped and wrong and everything smelled of terror. She protected them, then, so he trusts her now, even if she rarely pays him any mind. On occasion, she will absentmindedly stroke him as he passes, like the kindness comes to her so naturally that she doesn’t notice it at all, or maybe like it’s something she once tried to snuff out and is only now learning to show. He winds his way around her legs again and again, and each time she smiles a little faster.

He is learning to trust the last, as gentle as she can be. She smells a bit too much of beast, of predator, of danger, for him to sit quietly in her lap, but she will play with him for hours, laughing as he pounces at red dots of light. The one he has loved for so long but who no longer lives here will wind an arm around her, sometimes, and then the Admiral will go to them and sniff at her hand. She’ll laugh, a deep, quiet sound, and he will allow her to scratch beneath his chin once, then twice, before making his way back to a calmer corner of the room. He thinks it makes the others happy, so he allows her to stay, even when her fingers are more like his claws than the others’ calm, gentle hands. He keeps a watchful eye on her, but he lets her be.

He is deposited unceremoniously on the blind one’s lap, where he curls back into himself, letting her run her hands along his fur. She laughs and says something to his mother-human as she joins them both on the couch. He lets the lull of their voices buoy him as he drifts off to sleep.

Yes. A quiet, lazy day indeed.


End file.
